With Eyes Ablaze
by jettisondown
Summary: Abed and friends celebrate his recent accolades of a short film by going to a bar. Confessions ensue...


It was Jeff's idea originally. Normally she would have been taken aback by this, but she – and everyone else – had seen how much affection he held for Abed. Jeff would be the last to admit it but his younger friend meant a lot to him – like a brother he never had.

Abed had submitted a short film to an intercollegiate film contest and it had received honourable mention. They had met up two hours early to meet up, and they crowded around Abed's laptop to see the results being revealed. They had waited with bated breath as Abed scrolled steadily down the list of the categories. Then, there it was, "Abed Nadir: '_The Falafel Stand'._ The uproar that ensued was a defining moment; Abed was never one for displays of affection, so when those six pairs of arms rushed to engulf him, the trepidation and anxiety flitted across his face like a flickering light bulb. But he took their warmth in stride. Annie liked to think there was a part of him that craved and thrived on the rare "family" moments of their study group, since he so rarely received them at home.

Annie liked to think that way about other people because personally, she felt that way herself. And she tended to avoid putting herself in isolated situations.

After the squeals of congratulations subsided and Abed finally decided he had enough of embraces for the day, Jeff suggested they go to the new bar two blocks from campus to spend the evening toasting their very own Scorsese.

The bar had been open for a little under two months and its novelty was still intact, evidenced by their yet to be vandalised white marble walls and lack of lingering odours from last night's stag or stagette parties.

The study group traipsed in and Annie immediately felt displaced. The crowd that frequented there were clearly from a realm she had yet to fully experience. The people there mingled in smaller, more established groups – people who already know their own tastes and interests well enough to seek out like minded individuals. Their attire bragged confidence and stability, they fitted in a way only quality fabrics can accomplish – they seemed to complement the rich hues of their surrounding décor.

This was a world of adults.

Not just any adults, but confident, grounded adults who have seen the world and its offerings. They _chose_ to spend their Thursday evening in this particular bar because they have been through enough Thursday nights to pass up what everywhere else is offering.

This was the world of Jeff Winger.

Annie instinctively tried to make herself indiscernible; her footsteps grow smaller and quieter and she attempted to shadow Pierce's broad and imposing figure as they made their way to an open table. She felt like a student who had wandered into the staff room. She cast her eyes downward and tugged her mustard yellow cardigan closer to her body – it suddenly seemed so childish and loud. She silently admonished herself for choosing it – what was she thinking when she stood in front of her closet mirror and nodded with approval this morning before stepping out the door?

The rest of the night went by excruciatingly slow. She found herself sandwiched between Britta and Jeff. She, the embodiment of unshed teenage awkwardness and self consciousness tried to hold the wine glass gracefully, while flanked by the two counterparts of self assured confidence – _they_ held their glasses as if they were custom blown to their proportions. The rest of the group were having a whale of a time, barely registering the fact that she hadn't said a word all evening. Though Annie was hardly the youngest one in the group, the others didn't possess the complex of anxiety and self consciousness that crippled her in foreign situations. Troy had been the popular jock in high school, elected prom king by the student body – he had no exposure to cafeteria hecklers; he had been liked and thus had the confidence to _expect_ to be liked. And Abed. Well, Abed had self-esteem flowing from his butt.

She toyed with a thread that had somehow freed itself from the stitching on her black skirt. Rolling it up in a ball against her index finger, she tried to push it back in before anyone could notice and note the cheap manufacturing that obviously went into making it. Suddenly, in the presence of a society that catered to "Wingers", all her flaws seemed to magnify and horribly expand. To her right, Britta made a snide remark about Jeff's choice in scotch, and he had responded with a quip directed at her Cosmopolitan. Their words jousted at each other over the top of her head and she briefly wondered what would be happening if she had chosen to sit next to Shirley instead. The events of Troy's birthday seemed all too indicative of their behaviour in an alcohol environment. The image of their bodies and lips entwined was still fresh, still made her nauseous in the most unsuspecting moments – when she'd be doing dishes, or laughing at a joke from Troy. It was still potent enough to deaden the peace she was feeling at the moment and replace it with a numbing effect that washed over her – debilitating her. Like the sudden drop in temperature when the sun disappears behind a cloud.

Unconsciously, she threw back the shot of tequila Pierce had bought for them all. The alcohol burned her throat and she retched as it seared through her body. She just recently turned twenty one – like so many before her, she naively thought the body would automatically adjust its internal organs to accommodate the potency of alcohol when it finally turned its twenty first corner. But like so many fallacies of the youthful mind, optimistic naiveté has the ability to overwhelm your realistic cynicism and better judgement.

Life was a hard lesson to learn. The human body is so susceptible to disease and so impressionable to ill intending chemicals. She learned that the hard way too – how fast and easy her willpower could bend at the sight of a tiny pill, how easy it was to persuade her fingers to pry open the bottle and grope for one more tablet…just one more wouldn't hurt.

"I think you've had enough."

Her head swung to her left and it took thirty seconds and twenty blinks before Jeff's face came into focus. She barely deciphered the amused smile on his lips and his warm hand gently resting on her elbow before she realized she had thrown back four tequila shots while lost in her own thoughts. As if the knowledge acted as a gravitational pull, the contents of her stomach surged upwards like an intestinal wave. She clapped a hand to her mouth and ran to the restroom, her platforms slapping loudly against the granite polished hardwood floor.

She slumped against the cool metal door of the bathroom stall, trying to regain her natural breathing rhythm. She could hear Shirley and Britta calling her name from the doorway, but she ignored them; she hated having people witness her loss of control – she already had one legacy left behind at her high school. Eventually, her friends left her alone but not before slipping a pack of mints underneath the stall door. She remained on the floor with her eyes closed for about fifteen more minutes. When she finally opened them again, her world had stopped spinning. She struggled to her feet and opened the door. She splashed water on her cheeks and popped a few mints in her mouth, letting it dissolve and spread across her tongue. Gazing solemnly at her reflection she noted her appearance; her eyes were wide with fatigue from heaving what seemed like her whole entrails out of her mouth, her skin looked ashen and translucent. She sighed. It seemed humans had an inherent, contradictive fallacy: we seek to maintain and prolong the energy and adrenaline of youth, but go to destructive lengths that in actuality do more damage than good.

When she walked back to their table, she found only Jeff – his long and lanky body dominating the bench as he sipped his scotch with such ease and leisure it would have elicited envy from Tom Selleck.

"Where are the others?"

He glanced over, his head turning only slightly to look at her. She felt a flash of annoyance; he never seemed to be willing to look at her full on – always through a sideways glance, as if she didn't matter enough to deserve his full attention. He lazily motioned for her to join him at the table before replying.

"Shirley had to get home to her boys so she and Britta took off since Britta's crashing at their house while her apartment's being fumigated. Troy and Abed went home with Pierce – the old guy has a bed time of 10:30 apparently." He gave a rueful chuckle, "One thing to look forward to when you're older: your own curfew."

She sat down without replying; her brain felt heavy and slow from the onslaught of hard alcohol she exposed herself to. It was no use even trying to come up with a witty remark to impress him with as she would have normally done. The walk back to the table had taken a lot of energy and concentration; her legs refused to stop wobbling with every step. Her body now unwillingly unwound itself and she found herself relaxing into the cushions. She never allowed herself to do this, never allowed herself to relax around Jeff. She wanted to impress him too much so she always sat up straighter, always forced herself to be in total control lest he think her even more childish than he already did.

But again, her body had caved to the effects of foreign substances and she was at their mercy.

She blinked wearily up at the clean shaven face. Her eyes traced hungrily the contours of his jaw and her thoughts drove her back to the night of the debate where she had grabbed those cheeks and forced herself upon his lips. Her fingers stretched and clenched at the memory – her hands had the faintest trace of his aftershave later that night and she wondered if he was wearing the same scent.

He must have been watching her gaze blankly at him for a while because he said, "I hate to alarm you, but I'm not some poster you undoubtedly wish you could hang on your bedroom wall."

Her eyes snapped and locked onto his, he was smiling that winning Winger smile whenever he knew he was being cocky, the one that emphasized the wrinkles around his eyes. She gave a soft giggle and murmured an apology. He took another sip of his scotch, and gave a cursory glance around the bar; most of the crowd had dispersed and the volume had dinned to soft whispers of private conversations. She imagined this was the time where confessions were made between unrequited lovers, seizing the opportunity of their companions' absence. It was during this thought when she heard her voice seep through the space between them.

"I cleaned out my closet the other night."

He looked at her mid sip, his eyes full of amused curiosity – as if he was gazing at a kitten mewing for attention. "Okay…?"

"I found a box full of my high school stuff. My mom had sent them to me after I told her I was released from rehab. Things I packed away before I was admitted. Pencils, textbooks, gym bags and shoes…"

He was quiet now; he had set his glass of scotch down on the table and was now listening in rapt attention, he was watching his fingers trace the grooves of the tumbler but she knew he was hanging intently on her words. She half suspected there was a trace of fear in his eyes as well, not truly wanting to hear of her sordid past in intimate detail. Annie rarely spoke of her time in rehab or her breakdown that led to her admittance into rehab – it made her uncomfortable as it did to an audience other than therapists. But for some reason she barrelled on, the words spilling from her mouth easily and almost desperately; greased by the recent offering of alcohol.

"I found my old biology textbook. It was the one I hid my pills in. I had carved out the pages so that the middle was a small opening, just big enough to encase a prescription bottle. I opened it up, and after all this time a bottle was still in there."

She heard his head whip around to face her. She could see out of the corner of her eye Jeff opening and closing his mouth, trying to form the question that hung in the air around them like a relentless fog.

"The bottle was about a quarter full. It was the last prescription I ever had filled out. I had taken a few too many that day, I was preparing for my calculus exam. It was around lunch time as I walked down the hallway leading to the cafeteria that I started to feel sensational. The people around me disappeared and morphed into faceless bags of walking skin. It was then the lockers started to move and build themselves into giant Transformers threatening to take over the school. I began panicking and it was then I threw myself through the glass doors of the cafeteria."

"I sat there in my room, holding that capsule of pills that caused me to wake up half an hour after my escapade to find myself in a pool of blood and glass, surrounded by screaming students and horrified staff members. I realized then what a person I had turned into."

She swallowed, her voice cracked under the strain of memories and emotions. Her face burned as she felt Jeff's eyes bore their way into her skin.

"I had become selfish. So hungry for recognition and so full of ambition that I tried to cheat my way to the top. I took those pills to ensure I'd have the day where I'd be able to sit atop my ivory tower to yell 'Fuck you!' to the girls who taunted me in the change room about my breasts. Fuck you to my mother who kept comparing me to her sister's daughters. Fuck you to Troy and his friends who ignored me when they dated those empty headed girls. I lost sight of what was important. That even in my state of delirium where I thought the world was ending I didn't even bother shouting a warning to those around me. I just thought to get myself to safety first."

"So, Annie Adderall admitted herself into rehab to try to regain her morals and humility. I sat there holding those pills and wondered, 'Am I still the same jaded, selfish girl I was?' I blamed the pills then, but I look at the things I've done. I tried to keep Troy all to myself, I used you to win a championship debate, I got a teacher fired to keep us all together, and I kissed you because I was feeling sorry for myself for yet another failed relationship. I may not be Annie Adderall anymore…but it seems Annie isn't that great either."

"So I get it. I get why you avoid being around me half the time. I'm just as selfish and corrupted as you try to portray yourself to be. But here's the difference Jeff Winger, you know what an asshole you make people think you are. But in the end you _know_ this is the absolute worse a person can possibly be. You are consciously aware the difference between good and wrong so you do the bare minimum to skate by without being weighted down by being the 'hero'. It's less tiring that way. Whereas I'm…I don't know my own vices until someone gets hurt. Why would you want to love someone who finger-paints the lines between right and wrong?"

Annie took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her cheeks searching for a comfortable spot against the cushions. She suddenly felt so tired. She knew she wouldn't remember this tomorrow but she also knew there wouldn't be another time when she could summon the strength to say what she so wanted to scream at him whenever he walked into the study room, or whenever he passed her over with a mere glance.

"I want to love you. But it's so unfair. Being born so late is so unfair. Being so weak is so unfair. Darwin was wrong, or maybe the survival of the fittest skipped out on me – I'm here due to some genetic fluke. Because my weaknesses just overpower my strengths. Troy, high school, you and Britta…you…Slater…Tranny Dance…ignoring…"

She fell silent. Her gaze had fixed itself on a small stain on the bench between them. She had run out of things to say and her chest felt empty and deflated. Somewhere down the bar a glass smashed and the sound jolted her slightly. As she blinked the room had become brighter and the music slightly louder. For the first time she felt embarrassed. She sat up straight and gathered her cardigan and purse, ready to mumble a good night before making her escape through the exit.

Then a large, strong hand closed over hers, gently pushing her bag down on to the table. His fingers looped themselves easily between hers and clasped them tight. His long fingers easily and readily encasing her small ones. She thought blearily of the nights where she would burrow under her blankets to muffle the angry voices of her parents arguing. Her small body disappearing beneath quilts of warmth and escape. She raised her eyes fearfully and saw that he had turned his whole body so he was facing her. His eyes soft but smoldering with a look she couldn't quite make sense of. There was anger, she could tell because his lips had tightened into a slight frown. Frantically, she scanned for the right words, to make this moment as she always fantasized. The romance she was so desperate for ever since she watched _When Harry Met Sally _on her fifteenth birthday when no one came to her party – the moment where they both realize they were a long time coming. Instead, she remained mute. Fear rendered her disabled to the cries of her mind. Fear of breaking the spell. Fear of having the moment ruptured by yet another rejection on his part due to her age, youth and blissful ignorance. And as fear and vulnerability cripples your sense of judgement, you tend to cling to stability and strength. Her fingers instinctively found the nooks of Jeff's hand and gripped on to him as tight as she could.

She was bracing herself for the anticlimax and resulting disappointment. Twenty to one, during times of close contact, Jeff suddenly feels the impact of what may happen and retreats, loops around the conversation, tying any loose ends to ensure she wouldn't be able to bring it up again. So she has no reason to interrogate him, he'd beat her down before she reels back from the hormonal rush of their interaction. She heard his lips part and she closed her eyes…waiting.

"I found myself missing you when you said you were transferring with Vaughn."

Her eyes open and flew to meet his, not quite understanding.

"Then I found myself missing you during the summer, and then winter break. And then the time when you visited your aunt in California. When you got the flu and had to stay home and missed a week of school. I missed not having you constantly at my left."

He stated these outlandish confessions as if she was supposed to immediately comprehend what he was trying to imply. She simply stared dumbly back at him, her eyes swimming with anxiety and self-doubt. He sighed and reached over with his other hand, the one that so expertly held the glass of scotch, and brushed his entire outstretched palm over her face – scanning her, validating her.

He closed the gap that separated them. She felt herself sink slightly sideways as the cushions gave under Jeff's weight. The music from the speakers of the bar seemed to crescendo, and she distinctly heard the chatter of the waitresses as they conversed with lingering customers. Laughter and inconsequential dialogue circled around her, filling the bar as she gazed into the face that haunted her for the past two years.

"You don't miss someone whom you don't think the world of, Annie. You don't miss someone who you don't think is beautiful. You don't crave the presence of someone who hasn't had a positive effect on your life. Who has proved to be absolutely crucial to your sanity. Who resides as a source of happiness, innocence and peace. You don't miss someone who isn't _good_. You don't miss someone you don't love."

He kissed her.

She cried.

Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was anguish. Or maybe it was sheer exhaustion.

Whatever it was, when she found herself buried against his bare chest, and her chokes wrenching through the silence of her apartment, she found herself not caring. The sweat dripped off his neck and shoulders onto her cheeks and the neon lights of the adult video store across the street bounced off their silhouettes, illuminating their rebellion, their disregard against ideals, expectations, and fabrics of group relationships.

Later, as they lay panting against her now mussed sheets, his fingers walked the length of her spine and eventually tangled themselves into the forest of her hair. As the afterglow wore off with every blink and breath, she could feel the cold of uncertainty glaze over her skin again as she spoke into the darkness.

"I'm not sure who I am when I'm with you."

His fingers relaxed in her hair, and he began stroking small circles against her head.

"That's ok. Just don't stop being with me."

Near the breaking hours of dawn, she rose from bed without rousing him and walked towards her closet before making her way to the kitchen. Jeff opened his eyes as he heard the click of her front door closing and scrambled sleepily toward the window overlooking the back alley. He waited a few minutes before he saw her emerge from the building. He saw she was wearing his leather bomber jacket from last night and watched as she paused among the cluster of trash cans littering the alley, as if making her choice before approaching a particularly battered one. Annie, shivering slightly in his jacket and her pyjama shorts, struck a match and threw it in the metal bin. As the sun crawled through the sky to notify the beginning of another day, the two of them watched the flames lick away hungrily first at her biology textbook and then the remaining contents of the box labelled "_Annie_"; the handwriting of her mother melted into ashes.

She raised her head as the warmth of the fire and sunrise combine to alight her gentle face. She saw Jeff watching her, he pressed his palm against the window – his expression tender but fierce as their eyes met and locked.

At that moment Annie knew that if she waited, if she wanted, if she needed, he would come down to her.

She smiled as the first strong ray of sunlight broke through the horizon and ignited the shadows of the alley.

For now, she thought, that self-assurance was enough. And she made her way back to her apartment where he was waiting with a smile and an embrace just for her.


End file.
